


flares in the sky

by reyesrobbies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Gen, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Live, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24218479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyesrobbies/pseuds/reyesrobbies
Summary: Blocked off from the barrier at Platform 9 3/4, Albus Potter finds himself at Grimmauld Place hoping to find someway to contact his dad, who seems to have vanished into thin air. He expects to be scolded for walking through muggle London by himself, but what he isn't prepared for, is to be told he's no longer in his own universe. Instead, he finds himself in 1993, in a world where Lily and James Potter didn't die that Halloween night - but Harry Potter did.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 142





	1. in which albus is confused

The summer holidays had been, without a doubt, the most boring few months of Albus Potter’s life. He had just finished his second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and had been looking forward to spending the weeks with his friend Scorpius, who’d offered to let Albus stay with him through the holidays. His dad, however, had ruined those plans. Although Albus begrudgingly thought, he could understand why. While his dad had been very accepting of his friendship with Scorpius, and had sat through many slightly awkward meetings with Scorpius’s father last summer, he had drawn the line this year, as Scorpius’s grandparents were due to visit during the summer holidays. Albus thought he could allow his father his misgivings, he supposed nearly being murdered by the elder Malfoy’s on more than one occasion might have left a strain on how polite his father could be - his mother wasn’t too fond of Scorpius’s grandfather either, so that didn’t help. So with a heavy heart, Albus had owled Scorpius, who’d been very understanding, and had resigned himself to the most utterly mundane months of his life.

James had many friends at Hogwarts (Albus tried not to be bitter) and had barely spent any time at home, instead choosing to flit between the Burrow and his many friends' own homes. He’d slunk home a few times in between, to grab bits and bobs that he’d left in his room or to devour their fathers famous shepards pie on one occasion. He’d grin at Albus on his way to the Floo and ruffle his hair in a way that James knew he disliked. Still, as much as Albus disliked his brother sometimes, he had to admit the holidays might have been more fun with him around. Lily was alright as far as sisters go, but she was only eleven and a rather poor substitute for Scorpius. His mother had suggested going to the Burrow one evening, and meeting up with Rose, to which Albus had scowled and stomped up the stairs in a very Albus manner. Rose, he thought, was even worse than James. While she acted nicely to Albus in front of their family, when they were alone it was a rather different matter. She despised Scorpius and frequently tried to convince Albus that he was a secret Death Eater. Albus thought it preposterous - Scorpius? A Death Eater? Scorpius had once cried for fifteen minutes after he accidentally stepped on a Bowtruckle. Albus snorted, he couldn’t see any Dark Lords lining up to recruit Scorpius. Loyal to his friend, Albus had told her as much once, during a trip to the Burrow, and asked her to keep her nose out of his business. Rose had sniffed haughtily and swept away, determined to prove him wrong. She never had, and their relationship had suffered for it. Rose was clever enough never to mention the reason for their falling out in front of their families, however, so instead it looked like Albus was being the unreasonable one. His father had sighed heavily and asked him to make it up to Rose many times during the past year, but he’d refused - it made sunday dinners at the Burrow very awkward indeed. 

So Albus had been very content to simply spend the summer holidays at home, if he couldn’t visit Scorpius, then he could at least read a few of his books that his cousin Teddy had borrowed him and prepare for his next year at Hogwarts - he was very excited to start Care of Magical Creatures this year, and had devoured every book he could find in preparation. His family, on the other hand, had a different plan. As if spurred on by the fact Lily would be starting Hogwarts that September, his dad had decided that they needed to cram eleven years worth of family holidays into one month. James had been excused, as long as he came on at least five day trips with them, which Albus thought was rather unfair and had said so to his mother. His mum had simply sighed, and asked Albus if he’d please play nice, for his father's sake. She crouched down next to him and hugged him gently, before explaining softly that his father never had a chance to go on holiday when he was younger, and his summer holidays at school had mostly been spent waiting for news of Voldemort or simply spent at the Burrow with Uncle Ron. Albus had felt something squirm in his stomach at this and had been unable to look his mum in the eyes. She’d smiled and said ‘it was a lot different when we were your age, Albie.’ 

So Albus had allowed himself to be dragged around the British countryside with his family, only grumbling slightly, which for Albus was very good indeed. He’d never seen his dad so happy, trainers thick with mud as he helped Albus and Lily hop over country gates and pointed out different animals they could spot in the fields. They’d visited Cornwall for a week and had ice cream in the bay of St. Ives, floo’d directly to Northumberland where his father had lots of fun pointing out different castles to Lily and comparing them to Hogwarts, before continuing on to the Lake District, where Albus had spent two weeks getting wet and soggy in the rain and walking more than he’d ever walked in his short life. It could be worse, he supposed, as at least they were staying in caravans and hotels, as his dad seemed to have an aversion to camping. Uncle Ron had offered to borrow them grandpa’s tent with a large grin, before being swatted on the head with a newspaper by his Aunt Hermione. His dad hadn’t found it very funny. 

The day they’d returned to their own home, Albus had flopped on his bed and refused to move for two hours, before his rumbling stomach had betrayed him and he’d ventured downstairs. In the kitchen, where he was helping himself to pasties from the fridge, his dad had caught him in a tight hug and told him what a wonderful time he’d had. Things had been strained between the two of them since his first year, Albus thought with a grimace. It hadn’t been anything his father had done...more what he’d done in his younger years. Albus had thought his dad would have been furious he had been sorted into Slytherin, but the older man had surprised him. Instead of the howler he’d been expecting to arrive on the Slytherin table the morning after he’d arrived at Hogwarts, Albus had received a rather long, heartfelt note from his father, telling him that he was proud of Albus and there was nothing wrong with Slytherin - his dad had underlined this five times. A weight had lifted from his shoulders and Albus would have been quite happy, if the next year at Hogwarts hadn’t been so dreadful. Everywhere he went people talked about his father, they watched in his lessons and tutted when he fumbled with his spells. They didn’t say it, but he could see the unspoken words in their eyes ‘your father was never this terrible’. The worst blow had been when his broom refused to come to him in their first flying lessons, he’d felt his ears burn red in embarrassment when the broom just wouldn’t fly into his hand and had left the Quidditch pitch with the words ‘squib’ ringing in his ears. He’d stepped off the Hogwarts express in his first year with burning rage and anger at his father for being so perfect and so...so...him and had refused to speak to his dad the whole holidays. His dad had been confused, and tried to talk to him, setting aside time for just him and Albus. This had just annoyed Albus, who found his father’s coddling to be overbearing. He’d stayed at the back of the group when his family had joined up with the Weasley’s at Platform 9 ¾ and had stubbornly told his dad to leave him alone, brushing past him and dragging his trunk into an empty compartment. Scorpius had frowned at him later, while Albus was telling his tale of woe over a chocolate frog and a pumpkin pastie. He hadn’t said anything, which Albus was glad for, but the look on his face had conveyed enough. Albus had entered his second year at Hogwarts still angry at his father, and determined to prove himself. After one miserable Herbology lesson in December, from which Albus was now nursing a rather stinging cut from a Venomous Tentacula, his godfather, Neville, had pulled him aside for a chat. The two had sat in Neville’s quarters in the castle and his godfather had firmly placed a mug of frothy butterbeer into his hands before staring him directly in the eyes. Albus had tried to deny everything at first, but Neville had known him since he was a baby and was not fooled. Eventually, Albus had muttered “just, you know...I’m rubbish at magic.”

Neville had laughed, slapping Albus’s knee causing his butterbeer to slosh out of it’s tankard. “You’re not rubbish Al, you’re great in my lessons and I know Professor Flitwick’s always going on in the staff room about how great you are at charms.”

Albus could feel his face growing red, he bowed his head. “Yeah but, i’m rubbish at potions...and Quidditch!” “Lots of people are rubbish at Quidditch, Al, me included.”

“Yes,” Albus persisted, “but dad wasn’t rubbish at them!”

Neville had gone quiet then, before he looked back up at Albus with a soft smile on his face, “So that’s what this is about.” Albus didn’t reply. “Al, you know your dad was rubbish at loads of stuff, don’t you?”

Albus had been shocked at this, and had spluttered through a mouthful of butterbeer. Neville had laughed, and transfigured the chair Albus was sitting on into a small sofa, so there was room for him to squeeze next to Albus. Neville spent the next twenty minutes laughing about his Hogwarts days with Albus, a prodding fun at his father’s misfortunes in his lessons. “-One time, Al, he hexed his own eyebrow off, don’t know how he managed that, and let’s not even mention divination.”

Albus had laughed, before frowning slightly again. Neville hugged him, wrapping one arm around Albus’s shoulders. “You’re only young, Al, you’ve got plenty of time to grow. Your dad found his strengths - defence against the dark arts, charms...you’ll find yours. Your dad wasn’t a prodigy in his second year, it comes with time. Everyone thought I was a squib in my first year!”

Albus had gone back to his dorms feeling like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He’d never really thought about his dad being his age, it seemed he appeared in Albus’s head as a fully formed dad, and the thought of him being younger was just too strange of a concept. Hearing that his dad had had to copy his homework off Aunt Hermione was reassuring, as Albus had spent many nights deciphering Scorpius’s own scrawling handwriting onto his own homework. When he’d stepped off the Hogwarts Express at the end of his second year, he’d offered his dad a weak smile and then allowed himself to be drawn into a rather awkward hug. His mother had smiled radiantly and suggested that Harry and Albus choose where to go for tea and had swept the rest of his siblings off to the car. They’d eventually settled on Wagamama, where the family found great amusement in trying to use the chopsticks, before his father had begrudgingly given up and scooped up five forks from the cutlery box and demanded they use them before made even more mess than they already had (the waitress seemed rather pleased when they left later that night).

Back in the kitchen, Albus shook his head and hugged his father back, “yeah, I had fun too”. 

His dad smiled, and led Albus to the kitchen table with a beckoning hand, “I’ve got something for you,” he said, rather shyly for his father.

Albus sat down and from a cupboard next to the kitchen, his dad pulled out a bag. He opened the bag and pulled out-

“A blanket?”

Harry fumbled with the blanket in his hands, “I thought a lot about what to give you this year. James - well, James has been going on about the Invisibility Cloak since time itself, and Lily - well I got her some fairy wings - you know she loves - well - but you. You’re thirteen years old now, Albus, and I wanted to give you something which - meant something. This...is the last thing I had from my mum. The only thing. I was given to the Dursleys wrapped in it. I thought it had gone forever and then, when your great-aunt Petunia died, hidden amongst her possessions, surprisingly, Dudley found this and he kindly sent it on to me, and ever since then - well, anytime I’ve wanted luck I’ve found it and just tried to hold it and I wondered if you…”

“Wanted to hold it to?” Albus smiled and leant forward to touch the blanket. “You should keep it, dad, it obviously means a lot.”

His dad returned his smile, fingers still stroking the small piece of cloth. His dad wasn’t very good with words, but, feeling a lump in his throat, Albus thinks he knows what he wanted to say. He took the blanket from his dad’s hands and folded the corners together, placing it in his lap. “Thanks dad.”

Harry grinned and rustled Albus’s hair, “don’t tell your mother, it’s too late for sweets, but I think we’ve got some chocolate cauldrons in the cupboard if you’re interested?”

Albus ignored the bristle of anger that went through him when his dad ruffled his hair - he knew he hated that - and instead nodded, ignoring the way his dad awkwardly swept his jumper under his glasses to wipe away the few tears that had appeared in his eyes. He didn’t need a mouldy old blanket, but he was supposed to be trying...wasn’t he? 

\--

The morning of September the 1st passed in a flurry of chaos and Albus had already sworn several times, trapping his finger in the locks of his trunk more than once and nearly getting launched down the stairs by his brothers over eager owl. His dad stood by the door, tapping his star watch impatiently and tapping his foot. He’d accio’d their trunks into the car fifteen minutes ago and was now waiting for Lily to emerge from her sixteenth toilet break of the morning. “We’re going to be late,” he grumbled at his mother, “you know what it’s like getting a space toda-” 

“We’ll be fine,” his mother cut in, “got your ferret, Albie?”

Albus nodded as Lily finally emerged from the bathroom and was ushered outside by his father. The trip to Kings Cross seemed to pass in no time at all and before he knew it he was being dragged out of the car by Lily, who was always mesmerised by the large station. Lily let go of his hand to run after their mother and Albus took his trunk off his dad, giving Raffles (his ferret) a quick pat on the head before trailing after his family. The clock on the station wall read 10:51, so Albus supposed his dad was right to be panicked, James had already ran ahead through the barrier, keen to join his friends and Lily and his mother were each holding onto the handle of Lily’s trolley and before Albus could blink, they’d taken the barrier at a run. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his father smiling next to him, “Together?”

Albus nodded and his dad put one hand on his trolley, the other on his shoulder, “1, 2, 3.” Albus ran to the barrier, feeling his dad’s hand on his own, they were a few feet away from it when -

CRASH.

Albus felt himself bounce into his trolley, falling backwards, Raffles squeaking indignantly as he tumbled from the top of the trolley. Albus stood up unsurely, rubbing his head and wincing as he felt a rather large lump on the top of his forehead. Slightly in shock, he pushed his hand against the barrier and felt his blood run cold as he felt the solid brick beneath his fingertips. Shaking, he picked up Raffles cage off the floor, ignoring the stares and laughs he was receiving from various travellers on the platform and glanced up at the clock. 10:56...so why....

Albus straightened himself and cast another glance at the barrier. His dad seemed to have made it through? So why hadn’t he? Sighing, Albus started to make his way to a bench just opposite platform ten, so he’d be easily spotted by his parents when they came back through to check on him. He knew his dad would be worried, so it was best to wait somewhere he could be easily spotted, so his dad wouldn’t get paranoid and start calling for a ministry search party (like he had on James’ eighth birthday party, when the two of them had decided to go for a walk in the woods while the adults were distracted...that had been embarrassing). Eleven o’ clock came and went and Albus was beginning to get nervous.A tiny voice in the back of his head said maybe they’d just forgotten about him, but Albus squashed it down before glancing back at the giant clock. 11:04…11:09...:11:23...11:40.

This was ridiculous! Albus had watched many other families emerging from the platform after the train had departed (he hadn’t recognised any of them), but he hadn’t seen any members of his family walking through. Maybe they were mad at him? Discussing what to do with the strange Slytherin boy who decided to miss the train. Maybe they’d expel him, he didn’t know anyone who hadn’t caught the Hogwarts Express to school before...Albus shook his head, surely they weren’t going to stop him going to Hogwarts for a silly thing like the barrier closing? Maybe they were just going to see the others off and have him floo to Hogwarts? Well, whatever was happening, Albus thought angrily, he wasn’t waiting around like an idiot any more. Albus stood up and grabbed his trolley, stalking out of the train station and towards the St Pancras car park where his family had parked...or had parked. He looked around, he couldn’t see their car anywhere. He was sure they’d parked near the bike racks, because he’d ended up catching his jumper on one of the handles as Lily had dragged him out of the car. He looked around the bottom floor for ten more minutes, before taking the lift to check the other two floors just in case he’d somehow forgotten they’d parked on a higher level. When this didn’t work, Albus went back down to the ground floor and dragged his increasingly heavy trunk back to Kings Cross. Albus was bemused, first the barrier had closed and now their car was gone? He hadn’t seen anyone crossing back through the barrier so he was sure they couldn’t have simply abandoned him and drove back home, no matter how estranged he’d been from his dad he couldn’t imagine him just leaving Albus in the middle of muggle London. Albus wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly cold. He was in the middle of muggle London all by himself - and he was starting to panic. He couldn’t get the train, the car was gone and he couldn’t find anyone in his family. Maybe...maybe the barrier wouldn’t let anyone from his family cross...maybe that’s why they weren’t there? Maybe Albus was simply missing the car in his panic and his parents had decided to floo to make their way to Hogwarts so they could find him that way? It was a stretch, but Albus felt himself slowly begin to calm down. Inspiration struck him suddenly, Grimmauld Place was in Islington. Islington was only a twenty minute walk away from the station! He could walk there, ask Kreacher to help him set up the fireplace so he could floo to Hogwarts and meet his family there. His dad couldn’t shout at him because at least he’d be safer at Grimmauld Place than roaming the streets of London. They hadn’t visited the large house for a while, his dad didn’t really seem to like it and always got a funny look on his face when they visited the elderly house elf, but it was better than nothing. Nodding to himself, Albus pulled his trunk off the trolley and grabbed Raffles cage with his other hand, it was a good job they’d done lots of walking that summer, otherwise Albus didn’t think he would’ve made it.

\--

Albus had stopped a few times on the way to Grimmauld Place - once to ask for directions and a second to stop at an off license to buy a drink and some crisps, they’d had to skip breakfast that morning in the rush and Albus felt quite peckish. Roughly forty minutes after he’d set off from the station, Albus found himself looking at the street sign for Grimmauld Place. Excellent, he thought to himself, and began to walk down the rows of houses. Number Ten, Number Eleven, Number Thirteen...Albus stopped. He walked backwards and squinted at the row of houses, where was number...Oh, there it was. For a moment, Albus had been sure that Number Twelve had been missing and had been about to get very cross. He supposed he was tired from his long walk and the whole situation, he walked up to the steps of the house, pausing as he grasped the door handle. The house seemed to blur as he looked up at it, as if the house was trying to figure out who he was. But that was silly, Albus shook his head and pulled the door handle down. Aunt Hermione, very cleverly, had discovered that there was a charm placed on the house when they had visited one summer after dad had finished restoring the old building, that allowed any member of the house’s family to enter without having to use a key, Albus was very grateful for that now, even though the handle was a little stubborn, he pushed it down forcefully and eventually, the door creaked open. Albus pulled his trunk through the threshold and set Raffles down before shrugging off his coat and throwing it over the side table. He frowned as he looked around. The house was dark and gloomy, not at all like it had been the last time his family had visited and Albus felt strange as he glimpsed around. 

“Kreacher…” he mumbled into the darkness, filled with unease.

There was a loud crack and Kreacher appeared before him, looking more bedraggled and deranged than Albus thought possible. The house elf peered at him, and pulled at his long ears. He was wearing a sodden, filthy dishrag and was muttering to himself. “Blood traitor is speaking to Kreacher like master...but boy is not master...but boy is master…”

Just as Albus reached out to try to comfort the elf, he heard chairs scraping in another room, curtains flew open on a portrait to his left and his ears were filled with screams. "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers--" Albus stepped backwards, maybe this hadn’t been such a great idea. He covered his ears and bent down to grab his trunk off the floor, he’d take his chances in muggle London. As Albus stood up, he saw a large group of people emerge from the door in front of him, he raised his hand in a sort of awkward ‘hello’, but didn’t get much further, as each person had drawn their wand and sent what felt like a thousand stunners his way.

The stunners caught him in the chest, Albus felt himself fall backwards, then he knew no more.

\--

Albus squinted, he groaned and felt a pain in his chest. He opened his eyes slowly and noticed a woman with red hair sat beside his bed, Albus closed his eyes and smiled. His mother was here, maybe everything had been a terrible dream and if not, he hated to see what had happened to the people who had stunned him, he pictured them lying somewhere, giant bat like bogies crawling out of their noses and he snorted.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

The voice came from next to him, and Albus’s good mood shattered. That was not his mother’s voice. He opened his eyes once more and tried to sit up, wincing as he moved. The woman at the side of him grabbed his arm and helped him maneuver into a sitting position. Albus felt dazed with the pain, sure he’d taken a few stunners in his defence lessons, but they’d been sent by fellow twelve year olds with not much force behind them, not half a dozen grown wizards. The woman offered him a drink and Albus nodded. As she busied herself pouring a glass of water, Albus took a chance to look around the room. It was dark, like the entryway had been, and had dozens of wooden cabinets placed around, filled to the brim with different objects. There were thick curtains trailing from the windows and a large tapestry hung from the ceiling. Albus noticed he was on a couch, not a bed, and had been covered with a thin blanket. This wasn’t like any of the rooms he was familiar with in Grimmauld Place, although his dad had stopped them from entering a few rooms upstairs, claiming that he hadn’t finished decorating them yet. He thought the tapestry seemed familiar, however, and he leaned closer trying to get a better look. Suddenly, a glass of water was thrust beneath his nose and Albus had the sneaking suspicion the woman was trying to distract him from reading the names etched onto the cloth. 

She sat down on a chair next to him as he slurped the water, rubbing his aching chest. “My name's Lily,” she offered softly and Albus, feeling slightly delirious from the pain, muttered back, “my sister’s called Lily.”

The woman - Lily - smiled. The smile seemed to make her eyes glow brightly and Albus tilted his head, she had eyes like his dad, brilliant emerald and twinkling with light. Albus tightened his grip on his glass. “Sorry,” he began, “I just...I missed the train, I’m just trying to find my dad.”

Lily pondered his words for a moment, before leaning forward, resting her head in her hands. “Why didn’t you wait at the train station?”

Albus frowned, he had, and nobody had turned up, so he relayed this to her and watched as she furrowed her brow. He was just beginning to explain how he’d decided to walk to Islington when he heard a doorbell chime. As the bell chimed, the portrait he’d heard earlier began it’s screeching once more and Albus noticed that Lily seemed more at ease than she had moments before. She settled back into the chair and looked over him, “I’m sorry,” she apologised, “I haven’t even asked your name yet.”

Albus set his glass down on the coffee table in front of him. He spoke just as the door to the room opened silently, “It’s Albus.”

He heard a gentle chuckle behind him and turned, before his eyes grew wide with horror and shock. He startled, and he heard Lily saying his name somewhere in the distance as fog began to cover his eyes. For there in the doorway, eye’s twinkling and purple cloak sweeping across the floor towards him, was the long dead Albus Dumbledore.


	2. in which albus is angry

He was dead. Albus had hit his head at Platform 9 ¾ and had died. He’d tried pinching himself discreetly, in a desperate attempt to see if he was dreaming to wake himself up, but that hadn’t worked. So, Albus had deduced, he was dead. That was the only explanation, he thought, for the man standing before him. Briefly, he wondered if it was possible to be brought back to life without any horcruxes, because he was certain his father was going to kill him for somehow managing to get himself killed. 

The man (Dumbledore??) was around 5’11, and wore robes of a light periwinkle blue. He was gazing at Albus with what could only be amusement, a light twinkle in his eyes. Albus’s brain was working overdrive. _Think, Albus._

“Am I dead?” he queried, better to know for certain he reasoned.

Dumbledore let out a small chuckle, “dead?” The man replied, “I should hope not my boy, for that would mean that I am also and despite the Minister’s campaigning that I am an old coot, I hope to have many years left in me yet.”

Albus just stared at him. Okay, if he wasn’t dead...maybe time travel? His dad had told him that all the time turners had been destroyed in his fifth year, but was it possible one had been misplaced? If he’d time travelled, then it would be possible that Dumbledore would be alive, wouldn’t it? But how would he know for certain? Albus racked his brain. His dad had told him once, when James had come home from Hogwarts, brimming with questions about the war, that they had used to have to ask questions to every person they met, to determine whether or not they were who they said they were.

_(“What would you ask, dad?” Albus had queried._

_“Oh you know, something that only they would know.”_

__

__

_“Like what?”_

_His dad smiled, “say, for example, I wanted to speak to Dumbledore but I wasn’t sure it was Dumbledore. I’d ask him what his favourite type of jam was - something that only the two of you would know.”_

_“But wouldn’t everyone know Dumbledore’s favourite kind of jam?” James had retorted bluntly, “just have to ask the house elves wouldn’t you? Say, Winky, what jam does Dumbledore like on his toast, I’m thinking of surprising him for breakfast.”_

_Dad had just sighed into his hands and mumbled something to himself._

_“Yes but-”_

_“Well it’s not a very good question, dad”_

_“But if you just-”_

_The argument had gone on for several minutes, before Albus found himself tuning them out.)_

Albus cursed himself, why hadn’t he paid more attention. He couldn’t ask Dumbledore what kind of jam was his favourite, mostly because he hadn’t listened to his dad’s answer of what Dumbledore’s favourite jam actually was. And he didn’t know what music Dumbledore liked to listen to - and if he was back in time maybe his favourite music hadn’t been invented yet? Questions from the chocolate frog cards Albus liked to collect wouldn’t really help him, because Dumbledore was one of the most common cards you could get, he himself had around 20 copies of Dumbledore. Albus tapped his leg up and down, anxiously. 

“What’s your sister's name?” Albus finally said.

The second the words had left his mouth, Albus regretted them. _Stupid_ , he admonished himself. Everyone knew about Albus Dumbledore’s sister. Everyone and their mother seemed to have a copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ on their bookshelves - their neighbour, Ms. Tillingworth had enjoyed it so much, she’d bought three different copies to display (dad didn’t like them going round to Ms. Tillingworth’s house much). _What an absolute idiot, Potter._ Albus was so busy admonishing himself, that he didn’t notice that the atmosphere in the room had stilled. Lily was looking at Dumbledore with a confused expression on her face, while Dumbledore’s gaze seemed to lose it’s twinkle. His eyes seemed to burn with a mix of anger and confusion, and he had clasped his hands tightly in front of his body, before addressing the boy in front of him. 

“My sister?” he questioned.

Albus wiggled uneasily in his seat, “yeah sorry um m-my dad said that you should make sure that - well, that people are who they say they are before you talk to them?”

Dumbledore nodded, “a very wise decision. My sister’s name was Ariana, does that help?”

Lily was looking between the two of them quite quickly now, her eyes lingered on Dumbledore, before he nodded at her gently, as if to say ‘it’s okay’. Albus leant back in his seat, his question hadn’t really answered his question and he didn’t know how to proceed any further. Dumbledore by now had pulled out his wand, and with a quick swish and flick, had conjured himself a rather large squashy, purple chair. He sat himself down gracefully and turned to Albus once more. 

“I must say, not many people know so much about my family, even my closest friends seem to forget Aberforth - and Aberforth is not an easy fellow to forget.”

Albus stayed quiet. He didn’t think Dumbledore would be too pleased to know that in the future his life would be a Rita Skeeter exclusive (or maybe he would, his dad said that Dumbledore was a rather strange man - ‘two knuts short of a sickle,” his Uncle George had once remarked, fondly.) Albus felt his ears burn as he felt everyone’s gaze on him. 

“Um, where are we?” Albus was desperate to move the conversation on.

If Dumbledore suspected he was ignoring the question, he didn’t call Albus out on it. “Why, my dear boy, where do you think we are?”

Albus thought for a moment, “Well, I was trying to get to Grimmauld Place, but this doesn’t look like Grimmauld Place at all.”

“What number,” Lily had spoken for the first time in a while.

Albus frowned, “Number twelve?”

It wasn’t exactly a secret anymore that Harry Potter owned Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. His dad had told him that once, during the war, the house had been under the protection of a very powerful charm but the death of many of it’s secret keepers had left the charm weak - so, Kingsley Shacklebolt had proposed lifting the charm - his dad had agreed, there was really no reason to keep it a secret anymore. Though, Albus supposed if he was in the past, maybe the house hadn’t been given to his dad yet? He tried to calculate in his head how old his dad had been when he’d received the house in Great Uncle Sirius’s will but came up blank. Albus rubbed his eyes firmly, he was beginning to get a headache. The more he thought about the situation, the less likely his time travel theory was becoming. He’d learnt about time turners, they weren’t supposed to travel back further than a day. If this was Dumbledore, then he’d travelled back over twenty years and that just wasn’t possible with a time turner, was it? He guessed the building he was in now was Grimmauld Place before his dad had redecorated - back when it was the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, but he didn’t recognise the woman sitting next to him. His dad had shown him lots of photographs of the Order, but he didn’t remember seeing her in any of them. Although, Albus frowned, there was something familiar about her the more that he thought about it...

Dumbledore had begun to talk again, and Albus forced himself to focus. “You are correct, my boy, we are indeed at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, but I am very curious to know how you came to find this place. As I am this house’s secret keeper, and unfortunately I do not remember letting you in on the secret. I’m sure you are well aware that this may have caused some concern for my friends…”

Albus felt himself drifting away. Where had he seen this woman before? Not in any of the Order photographs...not in any of the portraits at Hogwarts...not on the Hogwarts Express....Albus clenched his fist, tightly. Where? _Think, Albus, think._

“Albus?” he felt a hand wrap gently around his own, Lily was staring at him, gently, her bright emerald eyes searching his face, as if to make sure he was okay. His heart skipped a beat. 

Albus knew those eyes.

“Wh-What year is it,” Albus stammered. 

The two adults, not for the first time that evening, looked at each other in growing concern. 

“It’s 1993,” Lily said softly.

Albus wrenched his hand back from Lily’s, his palms were beginning to sweat and Albus felt himself going very pale. “No, that’s not right.”

Lily tried to move closer to Albus, but he pushed himself up onto his feet, moving backwards towards the wall. He scrabbled in his pockets for his wand, but came up empty. Dumbledore was looking at him quite calmly, while Lily seemed shocked by the sudden turn of events. So, Albus thought hysterically, not time travel. But what? Lily Potter died in 1981, everyone knew that. Why would somebody go through the trouble of making themselves look like Lily Potter, only to lie about the date? Albus was bewildered. Nothing was making any sense. Lily took a step forward, and Albus threw both his hands up in front of him, making her pause.

“Jus- Just stay there,” Albus said, “please.”

Lily took a step back, “Albus, what’s the matter?”

“You’re Lily Potter,” Albus clenched his fist so tightly that small crescent moons appeared beneath his fingertips. 

Lily nodded.

“Okay,” Albus began, feeling quite dazed, “you’re Lily Potter, and it’s 1993. That’s not right.”

Dumbledore had now risen to his feet as well. “Why is it not right, Albus?”

“Because,” he choked, “Lily Potter died in 1981.”

There was silence, and Albus felt the tension in the room grow thick and stifling. Dumbledore (or not Dumbledore, Albus couldn’t tell anymore) was gesturing for him to sit, but Albus ignored him, keeping his eyes trained on the woman claiming to be Lily Potter. She’d taken several steps backwards and was breathing in deeply, as if counting to ten. 

“Albus,” Dumbledore’s voice was firm, “please take a seat.”

“Alright here, thanks,” Albus retorted, in the back of his mind, he heard his mother’s voice admonishing him for being rude but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

“She died,” Albus repeated, voice growing stronger, “in 1981, so it can’t be 1993.”

Dumbledore chuckled, but there was no mirth in his laughter, “I can assure you, that it is most certainly 1993 and if you would like, I could summon some of Sirius’s calendars for you to peruse - although I don’t think your father would be too impressed with me, Sirius’s taste can be rather crude.”

At the mention of his dad, Albus flinched - something that did not go unnoticed by the two adults in the room. Dumbledore began to circle the sofa now, hands still placed in front of him and Albus was torn between following the man, or keeping his gaze on the so-called Lily Potter. 

“Lily Potter did not die in 1981,” as Albus made to protest, Dumbledore held up his hand to stop him, “she did not die, what happened at Godrics Hollow,” at this, he dipped his head towards Lily, “in 1981 was a terrible tragedy, but Lily did not die. You seem confused-”

Albus could not deny this. “I know what happened in 1981! Voldemort came to Godrics Hollow and he-”

‘Lily’ interrupted him. “You say Voldemort? You’re not scared of his name?”

“Yes?” Albus was beginning to get quite angry, “fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself - that’s what dad always told us.”

Dumbledore nodded, “your father seems very wise. Perhaps you could tell us his name?”

Albus felt himself shaking, time travel or not he thought it was very obvious who his father was, and he didn’t understand why they were being so stupid. He’d always been told, from being very young, that he looked just like his father. James and Lily had inherited their mothers hair, deep burning red, while he had inherited his dad’s thick black locks and his eyes - his dad had laughed, _‘you’ve got your grandmother’s eyes, Albie’_. When he got to Hogwarts, he’d hated being told he looked like his dad, but now he was rather angry that they were acting like they hadn’t noticed. How many years had Dumbledore spent looking after his father? And if you were going to pretend to be Harry Potter’s dead mother wouldn’t you at least do a bit of research on what your son looks like?

“Are you being serious?” he bit through his clenched jaw, “you really don’t know?”

“Should we?” Lily had crossed her arms in front of her chest and was looking rather cross herself.

Albus stuck his nose in the air, “well you should, after all, you’re pretending to be his mother!”

Lily’s face had gone blank, while something seemed to click in Dumbledore’s eyes.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Lily’s gaze seemed to burn through Albus, but he was so angry at this point, that he really didn’t care.

“Harry Potter?” he threw his arms up in the air, “your son? My dad?”

Lily seemed to have gone into a state of shock. Albus was breathing heavily, and pushed the hair that had fallen onto his face back forcefully, feeling the heat rising in his fingertips once more. He set his gaze firmly on Lily, who was rigid - in anger or embarrassment Albus didn’t care. He met her eyes, wondering how the imposter had managed to get them to look so real, it was like looking into his father’s eyes.

“My son died,” Lily began shakily, “my son died in Godrics Hollow when he was a year old. I don’t know what you’re trying to do but-”

Albus threw his arms up in the air again, this time in exasperation, interrupting her. “Everyone knows Harry Potter didn’t die in Godrics Hollow! Why are you lying about something so stupid?”

Lily looked down at the floor, she let out a deep breath and turned to Dumbledore. “Is this a Death Eater trick? Sending someone here to pretend my son didn’t die? Why would the-”

“He didn’t die!” Albus could feel rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Why was she looking so calm? Why was she looking at Albus like he was the liar?

“My son died in 1981,” Lily repeated once more, more firmly this time. She looked as if she was about to draw her wand. Dumbledore had said nothing, but was looking at Albus as if he could see deep within his soul.

Albus bit his tongue, clenching his jaw so tightly he could feel blood begin to spatter on his teeth. He looked around the room, desperate to avoid looking at the woman who was making no sense at all. Underneath the window, he spotted his trunk. Inspiration striking, he pointed at his trunk, the locks burst open - Albus’s anger distorting into wild uncontrolled magic, and shouted ‘there!’. He pushed himself away from the wall, not ignoring the fact that ‘Lily’ had now pulled out her wand and was carefully aiming it at him. Albus dug through his trunk in a rage, throwing quills, clothing and beetle eyes out onto the floor. At the bottom of his trunk, he found the object he was looking for. A photo album. As he pulled the book out of the trunk, Lily noticed something that he had thrown to the floor in his fervor. He didn’t notice her mournful, shocked look as she picked the object up, too focused on flipping through the album. Their dad had made them all a copy of their photographs to take to Hogwarts with them, James had moaned that it was far too embarrassing to take a photo album to Hogwarts but their mother had clipped him on the head and told him to be quiet. Their dad had quietly explained that he had never had any photographs of his family growing up and Hagrid’s gift in his first year had been one of the best presents he’d received in his life. James had gone quiet then, and taken his copy without another word. Later, as the weather grew colder, James had taken them all into Hogsmeade with special permission from Headmistress Mcgonagall and had the three of them pose for a professional photographer. Albus didn’t think he’d ever seen his dad so happy and stunned, then when he’d opened his christmas presents that year. Albus found the page he was looking for, a simple portrait of the five of them, and held it up, pointing to the picture harshly.

“There, look!”

But Lily was not looking at the photograph he was holding up so fiercely, instead, she was cradling a small piece of cloth. Before Albus had time to look confused, Lily was speaking to him “Where did you get this?”

Albus’s ears burned for what felt like the thousandth time that day. The blanket, he’d forgotten. After his dad had given it to him the night before, Albus had taken it upstairs and shoved it into his trunk, he wasn’t planning on taking it to Hogwarts, he’d just wanted to put it somewhere where his dad couldn’t see, then hide it deep in his wardrobe where his dad wouldn’t find it and get upset at Albus leaving it behind. In the rush of the morning, Albus had quite forgotten that he’d put the blanket in his trunk. 

“Dad gave it to me,” he didn’t really see why it mattered, it was just his dad’s old blanket.

“This was Harry’s,” the woman muttered, seeming mesmerized by the piece of fabric.

“Um, yeah?” Albus was bemused, but Dumbledore seemed to be smiling again. Why, Albus didn’t know, but it seemed the older man had figured out something that had been bothering him.

Lily was shaking slightly now, her grip on the blanket becoming quite tight and Albus was really hoping she wouldn’t rip it, he didn’t think his dad would forgive him. “It’s Harry’s blanket,” she began, “I'd know it anywhere, but I...I hid it. After...After Halloween...I put it away, it hurt too much to...I never told anyone where I put it? How do you...How do you have this?”

Albus was about to use a very rude gesture, when Dumbledore let out a small chuckle. “Ah,” he said, “I see.”

“See what?” Albus said, feeling very cross once more.

“If I may,” Dumbledore nodded to Albus, “you say Harry Potter is your father?”

Albus nodded, stiffly, he thought he’d already made that quite clear.

“Ah, then here we have only one explanation. When the Order called me here tonight, telling me that a young boy had broken into Headquarters I was quite confused, I have no recollection of telling you the secret, yet, here you stand. It is impossible to enter this house without my permission, the fidelius charm is too strong, too complex to merely break into. But the house recognised you, it allowed you in. It treated you as if you were family, something the house has not done since Sirius Black entrusted the house to me to use as our lodgings. Kreacher, an elf who lives solely to serve the House of Black, came to you when you called. A boy that should not exist - I see Hogwarts robes in your trunk, but I myself have never seen you at Hogwarts. You claim to be the son of Harry Potter, who died in 1981, when Lord Voldemort murdered him in Godrics Hollow when he was only one year old. But,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled once more, “I suppose if I asked you, you would have a different recollection of that night?”

Albus opened his mouth to reply, but Lily interrupted him. “I don’t understand, Dumbledore, how can he...how can Harry...”

Dumbledore looked at Lily gently, “he is not of this world,” he explained, as if his explanation actually explained anything.

“What?” Albus was confused, “that doesn’t make sense?”

“I noticed something strange about you the second I saw you,” Dumbledore continued as if he had not been interrupted. As Albus and Lily looked on, Dumbledore began to weave a very interesting tale - he hypothesized that Albus’s magic was different to Lily and Dumbledore’s (how he knew this, he didn’t explain, nor did Albus ask), that the house had accepted him because magic followed strange, deep rules. Albus was a master of the house in another place, another time, so the house accepted him as it’s master here. Kreacher, a being whose magic was archaic and more unknown than any common wizard or witches, followed the same rules - Albus was his master somewhere, so he was his master here. Albus felt his headache returning. It couldn’t have been simple time travel, could it? No, what Dumbledore was describing was less Doctor Who, more Twilight Zone. 

“Time is a very fragile thing, Lily. Imagine, for instance, this morning. I enjoy my toast as I normally do, each morning I request raspberry jam to be brought up with it. However this morning, I decide to take a walk before my morning breakfast. After my stroll on the grounds, I return to my chambers and request my meal - but alas, there is no more raspberry jam. While I was walking, somebody else has finished the lot!”

Lily shook her head, as if she did not understand why Dumbledore was speaking about jam - Albus was inclined to agree.

Dumbledore held his hand up, to stop her question and carried on, “We have two moments here Lily. If I had gone about my morning as I normally do, I would have had my jam and continued as I normally do. However, by taking a morning stroll, I have changed the outcome of my day. Say, for example, while on my stroll that morning, I met a man - we became friends. We stay in contact, we write, we got out for tea together later that week - we form a connection. All because I had forgone my normal breakfast that morning. If I had stayed in the castle and taken my breakfast as normal, I would have never met this man! Our paths would have never crossed!”

Lily was listening intently, seeming to take in every word Dumbledore was saying, but Albus could not understand how they had gotten from his father being dead to Dumbledore inviting a man for a lunch date. 

“Imagine,” he stared at the two of them, quite intently now, “Harry Potter dies in 1981 in this universe but, in another,” he gestured to Albus, “just a small change, a small insignificant detail...and Harry Potter is not the one who dies. Instead, it is Lily Potter.” 

Albus understands now, he thinks. Dumbledore carries on. He doesn’t understand how Albus has been brought here, or what could have caused it, but he is certain in his belief. According to Dumbledore, there have been a few instances of dimension travel hundreds of years before - but the information is quite hidden, written in few books and with a wry smile, Albus wonders if the information is hidden in the same books that contain information about certain horcruxes. Dumbledore strides over to him and claps both hands on his shoulders. It seems as if he has accepted this theory, Albus secretly thinks it all sounds a bit too convenient an explanation - but, honestly, it’s the only one he’s got. 

“I shall meet with the Order, I presume they will be getting quite restless waiting for news,” Dumbledore made his way over to Lily, his grandmother, Albus thinks with a rush of excitement, and speaks quietly to her, whispering into her ear. Lily nods, eyes focused on Albus the whole time, and whispers back. He thinks he hears Dumbledore say “I’ll make James aware,” but he isn’t fully certain. With a smile in Albus’s direction, Dumbledore is gone, and it is just Lily and Albus remaining in the room.

Lily is looking at Albus with a sort of wonder and amazement on her face, she walks towards his and, still holding onto the blanket with one hand, cups his cheek with the other. Her eyes roam over his face, as if drinking in every detail, and Albus’s stomach lurches with white hot guilt as he thinks: this shouldn’t be for me, this should be dad. 

“You look like James,” Lily whispers, as if she can’t quite believe he is real, “but you have…”

“My grandmother's eyes,” Albus grins cheekily back, pushing down the shame he feels, “dad said he got told that all the time when he was a kid.”  
Lily covers her mouth with one hand, letting out a little laugh. From the way she reacts after, Albus doesn’t think she meant to do that. She gestures at Albus, awkwardly, and opens her mouth a few times, a question on her lips that she can’t quite seem to let out.

“I’m sorry for before,” Albus apologises, shuffling his feet awkwardly, she is still looking at him like he hung the moon, “just a bit weird.”

“Yes,” Lily smiles back, “it is a bit strange.”

It’s silent for a moment, as the two take the moment in. Lily, whose child died so many years ago - suddenly confronted with a grandchild, and Albus, whose grandmother died so long ago, feeling like he isn’t the one who should be having this moment, a miracle not meant for him.

“What’s he like,” Lily let the question fly from her lips, “Harry...your dad?”

Albus shrugged his shoulders, making his way over to the sofa again. He sat down and Lily mirrored his actions. 

“Dad’s...well he’s dad?” Albus doesn’t think it’s the best explanation, of course she doesn’t know, her son died. Which is strange to get his head around...his dad is dead here. His dad, who still kisses Albus on the head every night before bed, who wakes up before anybody else in the family to make breakfast just the way they all like it. His dad, who used to lift Albus up on his shoulders at Quidditch games and would spend the long walk home singing daft songs to make him laugh. His dad - who had been so happy to spend the summer holidays with his family. Dead. It makes Albus shiver, his voice catching in his throat. He looked down, and noticed he was still holding the photo album. Tongue swelled, he turned to the first page - a picture of his mum and dad’s wedding - and held it open for Lily. She took the book from him, fingers trembling, and Albus had to close his eyes as different emotions swept over Lily’s face. Happiness and sorrow mixed into one. She turns the pages slowly, wanting to savour the glimpse of her son's life - the life he’d never lead here. She stops on a picture of his dad, Albus and James, drenched in butterbeer and a dark green liquid.

“That was when I was eight,” Albus volunteers, pointing to himself in the picture, “we’d gone to visit Uncle Neville in Hogsmeade. He brought his mimbulus mimbletonia with him, said he couldn’t leave it in the greenhouse because Peeves had been throwing stones through the windows. He was trying to show James it’s defence mechanism - dad tried to stop him, said Uncle Neville’s never really got it right.”

He remembers sitting next to his dad, covered in the rank smelling liquid, Uncle Neville looking mortified opposite them while his mum laughed and laughed. She’d pulled her portable camera out of her bag, and James, ever the cool kid, had demanded his mother put it away. He’d leant forward across the table to try and stop her taking the picture, and had instead knocked butterbeer everywhere instead - making the whole scene ten times funnier. James had scowled when he found the picture in the album and had sworn for five whole minutes before stuffing it under his bed. Albus watched the corners of Lily’s mouth turn upwards in a smile, she turned to the next page and looked at him, a silent question in her eye.

They spent the rest of the afternoon like that, curled up next to each other on the sofa, Lily picking a photograph and Albus telling the stories behind them the best he could. Albus watched Lily turn the pages, unable to express how he felt. As she stroked a picture of his father with her finger gently, drinking in the tales of their family, Albus tried to push down unease in his stomach. This should have been his father sitting here, telling his mother about his family. It shouldn’t be Albus...but, he scolded himself. His dad would be coming to get him soon, if Dumbledore had figured it out so quickly, his dad would be able to. He was Head Auror. He was friends with the minister of magic and well, he was his dad. He could do anything. He was Harry Potter (as everyone always reminded him). When his dad came to get him, he could see Lily...he could see James...Yes, thought Albus firmly. His dad would be here soon. 

He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore is too hard to write, so let's pretend this is alt!Dumbledore who definitely speaks like this. We're going down the old fanfic trope of 'you're in another universe kiddo thems the facts', let's all roll with it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for fics where Harry find's himself in an alternate world and meets his parents, who lost their own son years ago - but wouldn't it be fun if it was Albus instead? This isn't CC compliant, we've got a less angsty Albus here who's really trying to make it work with his dad despite still feeling like a failure and resenting Harry slightly because being in Harry's shadow is not easy, and Harry who's trying to figure out what he even did wrong bless him. How would Albus feel placed in a world where his dad was brutally murdered at one years old, a world where he never got to grow and live? Albus gets to meet his grandparents who even his father never had the chance to meet. It's bittersweet and I'm looking forward to exploring this more if anyone even reads this fic lmao


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